‘But why did Madame change sides?’
‘She didn’t,’ says the Captain.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It appears Madame has been on Korolev’s side from the beginning,’ says Ms Celia. ‘They had one thing in common – a desperate ambition to win the Scarlet Slipper. Madame was the mastermind behind the poisoning when they were students and Korolev took the blame. I should have seen the signs . . .’
‘You couldn’t have known, Celia,’ says the Captain.
‘I knew how much Blanche coveted a Scarlet Slipper, and how jealous she was of Eva. She was obsessed with the White Swan. Look at the way she dressed – even her room was white, for heaven’s sake.’
The Captain shuffles his Viking feet. ‘Blanche deceived us all.’
‘Thank you, Garth, but I won’t forgive myself that easily.’
‘Was Madame helping Filipp too?’ I ask.
Ms Celia shakes her head. ‘Filipp Popov discovered she was a mole when he was a student in Korolev’s academy. He blackmailed her to help him take part in the competition.’
‘So all those times Pip came here with deliveries, he was putting pressure on Madame. Did she know about the bomb?’
‘We think he kept that to himself, although he must have asked Madame to make sure the back of the stage was open.’
‘But I still don’t see where Korolev fits in to all this. Did he know what Filipp was up to?’
Ms Celia sighs. ‘We don’t believe he did. All Korolev wanted was a Scarlet Slipper. He knew nothing of Filipp’s plot.’
I think back to the photograph of the Popovs. The lonely little boy in the upstairs window. ‘What will happen to Filipp now? Will he go to prison?’
‘Sorry, pet,’ says the Captain quietly. ‘Popov fooled Spencer and Li into thinking he was unconscious, but while you were being lifted out of the boat, he jumped in the lake. We’re looking for him now, but as you know, he wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in those temperatures.’
‘Poor Filipp. I can’t help feeling sorry for him.’
‘Dame Anna is very upset,’ says Ms Celia. ‘She thought she saw Filipp at the competition last year, and she was right. Moments later, he kidnapped your mother.’
‘Eva’s lucky to have you,’ says the Captain. ‘You showed a lot of pluck last night.’
‘And you danced beautifully,’ says Ms Celia. ‘Cycni venustas, cor leonis. We all owe you our lives.’
‘I couldn’t have done it without Merv,’ I say.
‘He’s in the waiting room now. Your friends have something rather special to give you. By the way, Milly, only the four of you know O’s real identity. I would remind you of that old Russian proverb – boltuna yazyk do dobra ne dovede.’
‘A fool’s tongue runs before his feet?’
‘Indeed. It is vitally important that your mother’s continued involvement with the school remains top secret. Do you understand?’
I nod as Ms Celia draws herself up. ‘Good girl. Happy Christmas, Milly, we hope to see you back next term.’
The Captain winks and wraps a postbox-red scarf around his Viking neck. ‘Our best students are always the ones who prove us wrong. Well done, Kydd.’
There are voices outside the infirmary. ‘All right, all right. You can come in now,’ says Nurse. ‘But keep the noise down. Milly’s mum needs her rest.’
‘Needs her what?’ Spencer dives on the bed.
‘Ouch, Spencer!’
Nurse flaps him off with her apron.
‘Sorry, Kydd, forgot about the ankle.’ He plonks down on the chair and sticks his feet on my blanket.
Lottie bounds in and punches me on the arm. ‘You’re a legend. Never knew you could do a Tiger Claw!’
I rub my arm. ‘Thanks, but it was more of a Boris Claw.’
‘Then Boris must be a legend too.’ Lottie catches Nurse’s eye. ‘She’ll be all right for next term, won’t she, Nurse?’
‘If she rests over the Christmas holidays.’
‘HURRY UP, Merv,’ shouts Spencer. ‘It’s a sprained ankle, not the bubonic plague.’
Nurse shushes at Spencer. ‘Last chance, young man.’
‘Close your eyes, Milly,’ says Lottie as Merv lopes in, wearing his mask.
Something heavy lands on my lap.
‘OK. You can open them now.’
I don’t know whether to laugh or scream. The last time I saw a Scarlet Slipper trophy it was about to explode.
Spencer grins. ‘Don’t worry, Kydd. It’s a replica.’
‘Read what it says!’ says Lottie.
I gasp. ‘Millicent Kydd, Swan House School of Ballet.’
Lottie does a little skip. ‘We won, Milly! You won! The judges said your dancin’ blew them away.’
Spencer raises an eyebrow. ‘It almost blew them up.’
Merv pulls down his mask. ‘Can I go now?’
‘Wait, Merv, I need to say something. I’m sorry I called your MUMB a silly little gadget.’
‘Who’s mum?’ asks Spencer.
‘Can’t talk about that,’ says Merv.
‘Oh, she’s very special,’ I say, smiling at Merv. He hugs his satchel and smiles back. At least, I think he’s smiling. It’s hard to tell.
‘There’s something else that’s been puzzling me,’ I say. ‘How did you know Filipp would try to escape in the boat?’
Spencer stretches his long legs and yawns like a lion. ‘When Madame told Mr Special to open the back of the stage, he guessed she was up to something. You’d never know it, but Merv’s actually quite clever. He asked me to watch the lake, and I don’t know what got into me, but I actually did what I was told for once. As soon as I saw the boat had been moved, I called Shorty.’
‘Me and my Tiger Claw was waitin’ for him!’ says Lottie. ‘Shame he had to go and escape.’
I put the Scarlet Slipper on the trolley. It’s amazing, but not as amazing as my friends.
‘Anyway, before I forget, Topsy gave us this to give to you.’ Spencer leans over to give me a cellophane bag tied with red ribbon. ‘I think it’s a memento of our near-death experience.’
Inside are three black biscuity blobs.
‘It’s gingerbread,’ says Lottie. ‘S’posed to be us. That’s me wiv no legs and Merv’s the one wiv the satchel. I gave you to Danny, I knew you wouldn’t mind.’
‘He’s all right?’
‘Yeah. Just feels like an idiot for bein’ taken in by Perkins.’
Spencer opens the bag and starts to munch. ‘You’ve got this too.’ He hands me an envelope.
Inside is a note written in shaky blue ink.
Dear Miss Millicent. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, once a dancer, always a dancer. I’ll be back at me Uncle Bob at Meekes just as soon as me knees are fixed. I always knew you was a winner! Congratulations and warmest wishes. Alfred Stubbs.
Next to the name is a little black heart. I slide the note under my pillow.
Something pings in Spencer’s pocket. He pulls out his old phone. ‘Got to go and rescue my father from Topsy.’ He shakes his head. ‘This phone is so last century.’
Nurse comes bustling back. ‘OK, you three, say goodbye. There’s just one more person who’d like to see you, Milly.’
As everyone leaves, Willow Perkins swans in like nothing’s happened. She holds out a bunch of snowdrops. ‘I got you these.’
‘I . . .’ We both speak at once. ‘You first,’ I say.
Willow puts her hands on her hips and sticks her nose in the air. ‘I said I was sorry, and I am. But that doesn’t mean I like you.’
‘It doesn’t mean I like you either,’ I say.
Then we both laugh.
Willow puts the flowers in my water glass. ‘I don’t expect you to understand, but Eva was the closest thing to a mum I had. I don’t even love ballet like you do – I just loved the attention. You’re so lucky, Milly. She’s the kindest person in the world.’
I see that now. Mum helped Fil
ipp. She helped Cook and Topsy when Mr Topping died. And most of all, she helped Willow.
‘I do understand, and I’m sorry too.’
‘Anyway, I’ve got to go, my dad’s waiting. He just got engaged. She’s taking me to The Nutcracker in the holidays.’
‘That’s great. Happy Christmas, Willow.’
‘And you.’ She blinks at my hot-water bottle Boris. ‘And just so you know, it was Bumble’s idea to steal him. She doesn’t like cats.’ Then Willow Perkins rolls her violet eyes and skips away.
Finally, I can look forward to Christmas with just me and Mum, and maybe Bab if she’s had enough tango-ing. As Nurse fusses over my bed, I fight a yawn. The yawn wins and I sink into a deep and dreamless sleep.
When I wake up, someone is stroking my hair. I open my eyes and get squashed into a flannelette nightie. Mum and I hold each other tight. There are no words in English, Russian or Casovan that can describe how lovely it feels. Mum doesn’t let me go until we’ve cried a year’s worth of tears and hugged a year’s worth of hugs. ‘Oh, Milly, I’ve waited so long to do that.’
‘Me too. And I really wish Bab was back.’
‘I spoke to her last night. She’s on her way. But I can’t stay, I’m afraid. I’ve got somewhere important to go.’
Knowing Mum’s a spy doesn’t make it any easier to let her go.
‘For Christmas?’
Mum nods. I try not to show how disappointed I am. ‘I don’t suppose you’re allowed to tell me where?’
‘It is top secret so you must promise not to tell anyone.’
‘I promise.’
She whispers in my ear. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time we both went home.’
Acknowledgements
Tragically, my own ballet career went down a plug-hole, age six, but that’s another story. This story begins in the Spring of 2013, when Milly and I took a grand jeté into the unknown. We’d still be waiting in the wings if it wasn’t for some extraordinary people.
I’m so grateful to the very first person to meet Milly, the Golden Egg Academy’s Nicki Marshall, who encouraged me to keep writing. Also, if it hadn’t been for a brilliant Arvon workshop, I would never have met the amazing folk who gave me the confidence to apply for an MA in Writing for Young People. Enormous thanks to the tutors at Bath Spa University; the fabulous Julia Green, David Almond, Steve Voake, Janine Amos, John McLay, and my mentor, Lucy Christopher – Lucy, I wish you were available in virtual form. Likewise, my wise and wonderful agent, Nicola Barr.
Many years ago, I read an inspirational article in the Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook by a publisher/ wizard by the name of Barry Cunningham. Ahh, I thought to myself, if I was ever to write an actual book, he’d be the first person I’d send it to . . . huge thanks to Barry, for seeing Milly’s potential when she was still very much a pumpkin. Thanks also to Rachel Hickman and Helen Crawford-White for my stunning cover, and to everyone at Chicken House for being so lovely; Rachel Leyshon, Laura Myers, Jazz Bartlett Love, Elinor Bagenal, Sarah Wilson, Lucy Horrocks and Laura Smythe. Extra special Thor-sized thanks to my editor, Kesia Lupo – you picked Milly up, dusted her off and rocketed her to the finale. You are my Lottie, Spencer and Merv rolled into one.
Also untiringly cheering me on and up have been my writing corps and sleepover pals; Julie, Sarah, Kathryn, Kirsty, Maddy, Christina, Finbar, Kita, Zoe, Imogen, Anna and Lynn. You are all exceptional writers and brilliant human beings. Same goes for Jacqui, who was both of those things and more. Heaps of gratitude to Mick, Jeni, Vicky, Sal, Sarah Doobrie, Katie and Chris for your hugs, hurrahs and hot dinners. Thank you for the photos, Chris. A lesser man would have crumbled.
Bottomless love and thanks go to my family. To Paul, Izzy, Gill and Maddy. My gorgeous mum – who was almost certainly a spy – how else could she always have known what I was thinking? My dear dad, who I hear in every story I tell. And Jude, who, despite being forced (i.e. sat on) to read the earliest ramblings of the bossiest sister in all of Wales, still loves me. Most importantly, I couldn’t have started or finished Milly’s story without my magnificent boys, Rog, Rory and Drew. Rog, you’re the Steed to my Purdy . . . the Nureyev to my Fontaine . . .
Which brings me back to ballet. I began by saying that I haven’t danced in a very long while. Thanks to Claire Tracey for putting me through my paces and to Sabin Huban for casting her expert eye over Milly’s ballet classes. I hope you’ll forgive me for taking outrageous liberties with your awe-inspiring world. And lastly, thanks to you, the total star who’s still reading! You are what dreams are made of. I hope you enjoyed Milly’s story and that you’ll join her in her next adventure.
Cycni venustas, cor leonis!
Helen Lipscombe
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Text © Helen Lipscombe 2019
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